


See what's become of me.

by wearethewitches



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dimension Travel, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Fix-It of Sorts, Gay Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Multiple Selves, Murder, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon Jinn Needs a Hug, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sith Shenanigans, Time Travel, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Young Anakin Skywalker, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, fashion icon obi-wan kenobi, more feels than i thought, obi can Get it Up, the one where the asexual lesbian writes ott gay smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn finds himself ensnared by the deviant, mysterious Ben Kenobi on the eve of young Obi-Wan becoming his padawan. A gloriously pleasurable partner - and a complete conundrum, waiting to be solved.Meanwhile, accidental time traveller, the Sith/Darksider Obi-Wan Kenobi himself, is enjoying getting one up on his old Master, regardless of the differences between them. However, if these other Sith really think they're a match for him - and expect the timeline to stay the same, starting and ending with Qui-Gon's death - then they're about to be sorely disappointed.-porn, with additional plot, fix-it and murder; now with feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

His copper hair shines in the low morning light that streams through the gaps in the blinds. Qui-Gon lays back in the bed, evidence of a night well enjoyed spent across the sheets and his skin. How it’s dried there brings him great shame, even if Qui-Gon tries to ignore it. The other man is awake, golden eyes drinking him in like he’s some sort of delicious treat.

The man’s hand dances up his thigh, grazing his arousal, which half-hardens. “Beautiful,” he smiles. “Would you like to stay in my bed longer, Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon’s heart breaks all over again. Xanatos is gone – Xanatos is _gone_ and Qui-Gon has a padawan, who he has abandoned at the Temple when he fled into the depths of Coruscant. The other man senses the change in mood, hand crawling up to press against his beating heart.

“Or perhaps not,” he murmurs. “Your grief is agony.”

“Are you an empath?” Qui-Gon asks, before sensing a faint flicker – a Force presence. His stomach rolls. It cannot be a coincidence that the one man he chose to go home with is a Force-user. The flicker radiates outwards into a stark being. The other man’s lip twitches at how stiff Qui-Gon goes, moving to straddle him.

“No, not an empath. In fact, I’m more of a seer,” they say in an almost mild manner, rocking his hips. Qui-Gon can’t help how hard he goes, spurred on by the heavy, leaking member brushing against his stomach. “I’m not interested in you in any other capacity except a bedmate, for now, Master Jinn. Indulge me?”

 _Indulgence_ \- Qui-Gon thinks, before the man shamelessly cants his hips forwards over and over, eyes closing as his head tilts back. He wonders what it might be like to take another, instead of being taken – imagining what it might be, to take this man, who acts so wanton and uncaring as to Qui-Gon’s troubles.

 _I never asked him to care,_ the Jedi thinks, before he takes the other man’s cock in his hand, fondling him. The other man – this _gorgeous_ being above him – lets out a breath of laughter, before he is suddenly moving forwards, knees at Qui-Gon’s armpits, member tantalisingly close to Qui-Gon’s face.

“Suck,” they order, sounding so very _smug_. He hunches, leaning so one of his hands clasps the bedframe – while the other tangles in his hair. Qui-Gon expects to be forced, then, but the man waits, watching him.

Qui-Gon is left with the decision and what a decision he makes, ending up swallowing the salty fluids the other man spills into his mouth.

“So good to me,” the man praises, before moving off him, grabbing Qui-Gon’s own member and voraciously bringing him to climax. Qui-Gon is a sweating mess when he’s turned on his front, feeling the Force at work for selfish purposes when his wrists are moved to the headboard to grab without him meaning to.

“What’s your name?” Qui-Gon manages to choke out, right as a wet tongue digs into his hole. There’s an aura of startled joy, before the man replies.

“Ben – call me Ben.”

“Ben- _Ben,_ ” Qui-Gon moans, gripping the headboard hard as his hole is licked and widened by lubricant-wet fingers. There is pain, though, when Ben finally presses his cock in. Qui-Gon flinches, but there are hands on his back, fingers rubbing soothing circles.

“Take it,” Ben orders and he has no right to sound so tempting, so devastatingly seductive. Qui-Gon pushes back against him, mewling from the burn. Ben chuckles lowly in satisfaction, then presses deeper and Qui-Gon lets out a strangled cry at the pleasure that comes with the burn. Deeper, _deeper_ – until Ben is fully seated inside him, cock filling him up all the way to his prostrate. When Ben moves minutely, Qui-Gon feels himself release, semen spilling between his stomach and the bed.

“Naughty Jedi,” Ben scolds, before his hands clamp around his hips, jerking roughly. Qui-Gon exclaims loudly, burrowing his head in the pillow in front of him. “No – I want you _screaming._ ”

Ben’s hips jerk again, rough and bruising, pounding in and out, pressing against his prostrate _each and every time._ A phantom grip curls around Qui-Gon’s cock, the Force pressing a circle around the base of him. The burn, the pain of his stiffness returning while it’s in such a strong grip – Qui-Gon cries as he screams Ben’s name, chanting it like a prayer.

When Ben finally – _finally_ – finds his release, spilling inside of him, Qui-Gon does not expect to be praised as he is.

“You did so well, Qui-Gon,” Ben strokes his cheek, turning him onto his back again so they can kiss, cock softening inside him, but not being removed. Qui-Gon melts, Ben’s lips soft against his own as they kiss. “So good, my darling dearest, so _very_ good…”

Qui-Gon regains some of his sanity, however, at the feeling of Ben’s once-more hardening cock. His hole is _dripping_ and the other man is getting up again? _Enough_ , he thinks reluctantly, ending the kiss. He goes to begin a rejection, to say he should be leaving – but Ben’s golden eyes are locked on him again. Qui-Gon finds himself lost for words, slowly becoming more intimidated by the second.

“…do you want to go?” Ben asks, neutral. He shifts his hips back – enough for his cock to fall out, heavy and wet. “You can. I’d like to see you again, though.”

“I-” Qui-Gon startles, wetting his lips. “I would- I would like that.”

And suddenly, Ben’s neutrality disappears as he smiles, so sunnily and so very _familiar._ Qui-Gon is struck by it, seeing his new padawan’s face on an older man who can’t be anything less than twenty years older than Obi-Wan himself. Obi-Wan is thirteen years old and as Qui-Gon can attest to – Ben is a user of rampant, unprotected sex.

 _Pfsaak, Force, don’t let this be Obi-Wan’s father!_ Qui-Gon thinks wildly, before Ben lifts upwards onto his haunches. Qui-Gon is still waiting for his release – but it can be pushed aside, if it means leaving.

“A parting blowjob for you, Master Jinn?” Ben asks cheekily, fingers featherlight and teasing. Qui-Gon stares, then nods jerkily, expecting his hand or even the rampant thrusting of before. But no – Ben takes him in his mouth, sucking him dry and causing him to yell, loudly.

Eventually, the two men leave the bed. Qui-Gon gets to see very little of what Ben looks like after that – daylight has a way of changing ones perceptions and to be honest, Qui-Gon was too busy getting fucked to the stars to take major notes on what Ben looks like.

What he does see, before Ben disappears into the fresher, is a scarred body of a fighter, complete with blaster scars, bacta-paled patches of skin and the most damning of all – lightsaber burns. Qui-Gon’s mind whirls over that fact while he waits for use of the fresher himself.

 _A Force-user with lightsaber burns. Is he a knight who left? A knight who fell, like Xanatos?_ Qui-Gon closes his eyes, reaching out with the Force as if he were only meditating with his surroundings. He is an acolyte of the Living Force – it is natural for him to seek out life in this dreary world.

Ben is like a contained star, showing polite interest when Qui-Gon’s presence touches his own. He even becomes playful and Qui-Gon is unprepared for the slow, rising pleasure that emanates from him. He’s hard again – and in the fresher, Ben jacks himself off, ribald amusement clear as Qui-Gon’s presence stutters then fades sharply when Ben comes, copied by Qui-Gon without even touching himself.

Dazed, Qui-Gon is late in looking up when Ben exits the fresher again, winking at Qui-Gon with a towel wrapped around his waist. His copper hair is dark red from moisture – a water shower, instead of sonic? – and a pleased grin on his face at the sight of Qui-Gon, spilled across his own legs.

“Fresher’s free. I’ll have the room sorted by the time you’re out.” Ben japes, casually taking the towel from around his waist and dabbing at his hair. Not wanting to intentionally bring himself more of this dastardly pleasure, Qui-Gon all but runs to the fresher, using the sonic settings to clean himself of their shared spunk and sweat.

Another towel is waiting for him on the convenience shelf. Qui-Gon wraps it around himself before he exits, stopping in stunned amazement at the sight of the barren room. It’s as if they never took part in their sexual deviancy at all.

And by the window, leg crossed over his knee with a steaming cup of tea in hand, is Ben, dressed to the nines in turquoise trousers, brown leather shoes, a cream shirt and a bejewelled, floor-length coat in turquoise to match his trousers. His auburn hair is coiffed perfectly, dry and tamed into perfect, wispy waves and the morning sun reflects off the diamonds hanging from his ears and the rings on his fingers.

Qui-Gon gapes.

Ben raises his teacup. “Good morning. Sapir?”


	2. Chapter 2

Quite honestly, Obi-Wan is unsure as to which of Qui-Gon’s hilarious expressions from the last eighteen hours is his favourite. His old Master is ridiculously expressive, not at all the cool, emotionless Maverick Obi-Wan remembers – and of course, recalling last night and even better, this _glorious_ morning, makes Obi-Wan’s position even more entertaining.

 _Oh, how your other self might rage at the liberties I am taking with you,_ Obi-Wan thinks fondly, watching Qui-Gon stare at him. Sipping his tea, he waits, watching the Jedi Master turn a solid pink and dress quickly, Obi-Wan having folded his belongings and placed them on the end of the bed while he stripped the room.

“Tea?” Obi-Wan asks again, “It really is the most lovely blend.”

“I must return to the Jedi Temple,” Qui-Gon says stiffly – and that won’t do. Controlling his smile, easing it into an inviting, fond expression that the Jedi may or may not enjoy, Obi-Wan stands, brushing his lap of non-existent dust. He quite likes this outfit. It brings out his eyes.

“Come, now, we had an enjoyable time together. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. I would be most upset if you left without at least replenishing yourself. You were perfect.” Obi-Wan proclaims, noting every twitch and flicker of hesitation, Qui-Gon’s Force-presence roiling with disturbed indecision. He offers the man his near-full cup of Sapir tea, the man unable to resist at least leaning closer.

“I- I must depart,” Qui-Gon says, tentative. He’s still leaning though and Obi-Wan enjoys how the taller man lean in towards _him_ , submissive – yearning.

“Perfect,” Obi-Wan says again, keeping Qui-Gon’s gaze. He sees the Jedi’s eyes darken, while a faint, deep-seated happiness flits through the Force. His words thrill Qui-Gon, even with their lewd meanings. Stepping closer still, breathing the same air, Obi-Wan says lowly, “Truly, the most tight, _beautiful_ arse that I would gladly fill with my cock again and again and _again_. I’d fuck you on my bed and against the window, till you knew nothing but my name and the feeling of my dick touching your prostate.”

Qui-Gon trembles, unblinking and leaning, _leaning._ Obi-Wan raises a hand, curling it around the Jedi’s cheek. He knows that Qui-Gon is vulnerable – that he seeks something, _anything_ , meaning to block out Xanatos’ deeds and all the horror that passed between them.

Obi-Wan remembers a Master that picked up a nine year old boy from Tatooine and went to claim him as his apprentice, disregarding his own padawan – putting him forwards for the Trials so he might claim guardianship of young Anakin Skywalker so much sooner than if he waited. That Qui-Gon Jinn broke Obi-Wan’s self-esteem, made him _love_ him, when all Obi-Wan reaped from their relationship was pain and suffering.

Here and now, in this place and time, Obi-Wan wants revenge. He wants to hold Qui-Gon in the palm of his hand and swing him around like a marionette. He is the Great Manipulator of the Sith, the Negotiator of the Jedi – he is Obi-Wan Kenobi and he _will_ have this man, if it means pulling out every trick in the book.

 _I will make you fall in love with me,_ he promises the other man, _and you will be mine to control, a puppet dancing to my tune – a slave to my desires._ He imagines the Sith techniques used to take control of another’s mind, imagines using them on Qui-Gon slowly, sneaking in whilst walking through the front door, reforming his wants and desires until all Qui-Gon cared for was him and him alone. Obi-Wan is invested in his plot and seeks to see it through.

Qui-Gon Jinn will be his slave, in the end.

His grip on the Jedi’s cheek tightens briefly, purposefully and Obi-Wan smiles at him, before lowering his hand and stepping back. It pleases him to see Qui-Gon stumble that single step forwards.

“I- I-” Qui-Gon stutters, eyes wide and his aching arousal clear in the Force. He looks at Obi-Wan like he’s hung the moon.

“Breakfast, dear,” Obi-Wan says in an amused tone, before he comes closer again, steering the Jedi towards the rest of the apartment with a hand to the small of his back. He will be the perfect gentleman – the perfect dominant partner, to whom Qui-Gon can trust with all his worries and fears.

And if that doesn’t work, Obi-Wan will integrate himself into Qui-Gon’s life another way. That was always what Anakin lacked: a plan _b_.

Making a cup of tea for Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan verbally directs him to the breakfast food options, wisely stepping back when it comes to meal preparation – it’s one of his few, but infamous flaws. All the clones in the 212th knew to run whenever he offered them food.

Qui-Gon seats himself on the available sofa with a grain cereal smothered in lakka, Obi-Wan taking the chance to right sit next to him, tea sat in front of them on the low table. Qui-Gon darts glances at him, nervous and oh-so-clearly aroused, still.

Obi-Wan knew that dissolving hormone patch would come in handy.

“If you’re really that uncomfortable,” Obi-Wan says with a certain amount of humour, gesturing to Qui-Gon’s poorly hidden erection, “I can make it easier on you.”

Qui-Gon looks to be seriously considering it, but he grimaces. “I must not succumb to all my physical desires. This should not have happened. I have responsibilities.”

“If you can balance them, then it’s well enough,” Obi-Wan replies mildly. Qui-Gon is refusing to look at him. _Now is not the time to push_ , he thinks, sipping his own tea and discarding the idea to physically come onto him again as Qui-Gon picks up his own. “But it would be an awful shame not to fuck you again.”

It’s timed perfectly. Qui-Gon splutters and coughs over his Sapir, placing it down again. “Ben,” he says, protesting.

“I speak only the truth. You’re the most amazing fuck I’ve had in…well, a long time,” Obi-Wan says, mind unfortunately falling back to that time with Anakin and Padme on Mustafar, after Padme had finished murdering the Separatists. They’d comforted her and finally, _finally_ came together as a trio. It’s a pity their relationship hadn’t ended well for Obi-Wan. He wants to throttle both of them, now, for abandoning him and daring to banish him to this wretched time period.

“Can we not be cordial?” Qui-Gon asks weakly.

“Cordiality is my middle name, Master Jinn. If I am being impolite – stamping on invisible social mores of the Jedi Order – then I would be enlightened, so it might not happen again.”

The Jedi Master struggles. Obi-Wan knows the Code – and he knows that the unofficial rules of the Jedi stick it to being overtly sexual. If Qui-Gon refuses his prolific talk now, Obi-Wan must offer this as a safe place for him to ignore the rulings he lives by, in exchange for being a glorified fuck-toy. Qui-Gon is far from dominant – Obi-Wan hopes he submits, as is his nature in these deeds.

 _I am truly wondrous,_ Obi-Wan thinks, when Qui-Gon shakes his head rapidly, looking to his grain.

In answer to Qui-Gon’s denial, Obi-Wan rethinks his earlier plan, moving to sit snug against the Jedi’s side, arm wrapping around Qui-Gon’s broad shoulders and bringing him under his proverbial wing.

“Good,” he whispers, palming Qui-Gon’s tented robes. The Jedi lets out a strangled noise, practically slamming his cereal down on the table before Obi-Wan moves to kneel between his legs, pushing the table out of the way. With an ease born of over a decade’s practice, Obi-Wan frees Qui-Gon’s cock and palms it, fisting the base and watching as Qui-Gon lays back against the sofa with a whimper. He covers his own eyes and Obi-Wan pumps once, then twice more.

“Look at me,” he orders. The Jedi looks, but only briefly. Obi-Wan stops his movements, slowly squeezing the base of Qui-Gon’s member and that alone. “I said, _look_.”

Slowly, Qui-Gon removes his hands from his eyes, watching Obi-Wan dry-rub his swollen cock. As his pleasure increases, he curses, the swears exiting his mouth easily and raising the sexual tension.

“Ben – _Ben!_ ” Qui-Gon shouts and Obi-Wan senses his impending climax. To avoid his nice jacket from being ruined, he swallows Qui-Gon whole, dragging his teeth down his skin. His legs, locked around Obi-Wan’s sides, tense and Obi-Wan gulps down the streams of semen. When Qui-Gon is barely trickling, Obi-Wan licks his flagging member down, tucking him back into his robes. Qui-Gon looks exhausted.

Obi-Wan stands up, looking at the Jedi Master with an expression of interest as he towers over his lax form. He waits, still. It is a test – a test that Qui-Gon passes when he leans forwards without even a glimmer of protest, hand going to Obi-Wan’s belt.

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking Qui-Gon’s head. His long hair is in a top-knot and it makes him seem a decade younger – though Obi-Wan knows he will learn to enjoy it loose, in the coming year. Qui-Gon doesn’t bother to even touch him with his hands, going straight for it with his mouth. Obi-Wan thinks he enjoyed it better when he had Qui-Gon trapped under him, but for now, this will do.

Rocking his hips, he also briefly entertains the thought of letting Qui-Gon have some control, but his hormones are as high as Qui-Gon’s and Obi-Wan wants _more_. He reaches down, taking Qui-Gon’s face, forcing him to look up at him.

“Do you know how to deep-throat a man?” Obi-Wan asks. There’s a moment of stillness and the obscene vision of his cock stuck in Qui-Gon’s wide, open mouth somehow raises his already-high libido. _If only I could fuck you more, today,_ he thinks with a curse, before feeling Qui-Gon’s shiver of fear in the Force. A word – _no_ – comes out garbled around his dick and Obi-Wan makes an exaggerated noise of disappointment.

Somehow, it stirs Qui-Gon to try. How is this man so _willing?_ So _pliable?_ Is he really that traumatised by Xanatos’ deeds or is he really this much of a slut? Either way, Obi-Wan relishes the feeling of Qui-Gon deliberately choking over his cock, thrusting shallowly. It takes Qui-Gon a few tries to get it right – and at one point, a full gag that releases his heavy cock into the cool air.

Containing his hiss of surprise, Obi-Wan pets Qui-Gon’s head. “It’s alright, it takes practice. I don’t blame you at all, you did nothing wrong.”

Qui-Gon flinches, his trauma clear. Obi-Wan acts in a gentle manner, coveting his face as he wonders how to use this – how to compound on this.

“It’s alright, you’re safe,” he says to him, voice full of that heady, Force-drawn _safety_ Anakin enjoyed when he occasionally played the submissive to his dominant. Qui-Gon’s arms clutch at Obi-Wan’s legs and the Sith murmurs reassurances as he guides Qui-Gon’s head to his cock, deep-throating him so slowly, so _carefully._

Obi-Wan swears, the sooner Qui-Gon learns how to do this properly and comes to him of his own accord, he’s going to fucking _rail_ him. What he’d do for a tight hole and Qui-Gon crying out in pain.

When he finally comes, he spills in Qui-Gon’s mouth, semen dribbling out of his mouth. Qui-Gon puts a hand up, so it won’t drip and Obi-Wan pushes him back onto the couch, settling on his lap.

“You did so well, my darling,” Obi-Wan grins viciously, pressing a kiss to Qui-Gon’s lip and tasting his own spunk when their tongues tie. Qui-Gon makes a noise of protest and Obi-Wan doesn’t let him back down. He pushes for control for a minute longer before slowing down, hand rising to the base of Qui-Gon’s neck.

“I have work,” he lies, tutting. “What I’d do to have you all of today. But we have responsibilities, the both of us.”

“Yes- yes, we do,” Qui-Gon states, obviously remembering his young padawan. There’s a fearful glimmer to his eyes and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Obi-Wan stays seated on his lap for a time, drawing it out to increase Qui-Gon’s tension before he finally presses a last, chaste kiss to Qui-Gon’s lips.

“I have enough biological material lying around to add you to the bio-locks. Visit anytime you like – and if I like you well enough by the end of this, maybe we won’t even have sex when you do,” Obi-Wan says, climbing off Qui-Gon’s lap as the man flushes red once more. Offering his hand courteously, Obi-Wan leads the Jedi out of the apartment to the elevator.

“…any time, you say?” Qui-Gon says as they wait for the doors to open. Obi-Wan winks.

“Any time,” he promises. “I’ll be here.”

“What about your work?” the Jedi queries, brow furrowing.

“I work from home, when I’m not on social visits. If I’m on one of those, I may be several hours – but I’ll return eventually,” Obi-Wan nods, outlining his schedule. Qui-Gon gives one more hesitant nod before the elevator arrives and he steps inside. As he turns around, Obi-Wan gets off one last quip to the Jedi Master.

“Think of me when you touch yourself.”

A shocked expression flits across Qui-Gon’s face, before the elevator doors close and Obi-Wan smirks, victorious.

_He’s mine._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon returns to the Temple to a surprise on his doorstep.

Qui-Gon has calmed by the time he returns to the Jedi Temple. He is serene in the Force, his shields extended during a walking meditation; but his control is tested immediately, when he finds Obi-Wan curled up outside his quarters with a single, thin blanket.

 _It has to be true,_ Qui-Gon trembles, his thoughts like gongs. _Ben **has** to be Obi-Wan’s father._

They are too similar. Their hair is the same shade of auburn, their nose and brow the same shape. Qui-Gon convinces himself that Obi-Wan’s round cheeks fill thin in time to reveal that sharp jawline he saw on Ben barely an hour before.

 _And I had a sexual liaison with him_ , Qui-Gon thinks, embarrassed and somewhat fearful. How might this reflect on him, if it came out? How would Obi-Wan’s prospective knighthood be taken if people thought Qui-Gon only took him on as a favour to his father? Qui-Gon had been vocal and _loud_ about not taking him on as an apprentice – he rejected Obi-Wan in front of what seemed like half the Order!

That same boy who is his padawan now, who is lying in front of his door like a kicked pooka pup because Qui-Gon went and got liberally fucked in the arse instead of ensuring his padawan’s health and accommodations now he’s returned to the Temple. He hasn’t even taken him to the Halls of Healing to see to his neck yet – he needs bacta unless he wants the slave-collar abrasions to scar.

“Padawan,” he addresses him carefully, kneeling down beside him on the floor. He does not reach out to touch him, but Qui-Gon does delicately reach out with the Force, brushing his presence against young Obi-Wan’s own. He stirs. “Padawan, wake.”

“…master?” the young teen mumbles, blinking awake. “Oh. Master Jinn- you weren’t in your quarters.”

“No, I was not,” Qui-Gon says regretfully. “And I did not give you the passcode to enter, either. Why did you not return to the Initiates Dorms or even the Padawan Dorms? It is your right.”

“Neither would let me enter,” Obi-Wan says, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, looking upset at the notion. “They knew I left and I- I don’t look like a Padawan. I was afraid they’d call a Master in the night to remove me.”

Qui-Gon closes his eyes. He should not have left last night. He should have been here, doing the paperwork required to claim Obi-Wan as his padawan, adding him to the roster with the Quartermaster, doing _anything_ but seeking his own pleasure.

“The fault is in me, my padawan. I seek your forgiveness, for I most surely need to apologise and make up for my misdeeds. You have been through enough, proving yourself.”

He opens his eyes. Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide, full of a hesitant joy and confusion. Qui-Gon stands, gently hauling his padawan to his feet. _My padawan_ , he thinks, feeling pain even though it is Obi-Wan, not Xanatos that now holds that title. Taking his collar slowly, he peels back Obi-Wan’s dirtied robes, revealing the red encrusted edge of his skin. There are black bruises and congealed scrapes.

 _And I was out there with his own father,_ Qui-Gon thinks, feeling angry at himself. Obi-Wan shies back, ducking his head, but Qui-Gon pulls him under his arm against his side.

“You need a healer for your wounds,” he states, already dragging him down the corridor. Obi-Wan lets himself be guided and his noticeable, pooka-like confusion adorable even in Qui-Gon’s regret. In fact, looking like a pooka pup seems to be his unintentional objective of the morning – his eyes wide and bright, his hair a fluffy mess and the blanket trailing after him. He’s still holding it tight in his tiny fist. _Surely children his age and species are supposed to be taller than this,_ Qui-Gon thinks.

“Master?”

Qui-Gon hums. “Yes, padawan?”

The boy flushes, standing straighter. “I don’t need a healer,” he says, as if this is a matter of fact. “I can just wash and let it heal on its own.”

“An unnecessary sacrifice on your part – and one that will get me in trouble, when people see you,” Qui-Gon says. “You are my padawan now and I hold guardianship over you. Your health is a priority, amongst other responsibilities I have shouldered as your Master. We will visit the Halls of Healing, then go through the proper administrative procedures so you may rejoin classes.”

Obi-Wan’s expression at the word _classes_ is telling.

“You are a padawan,” Qui-Gon assures him quietly, recalling Xanatos’ trouble with the workload – and then remembering Obi-Wan’s impeccable record. _No, he will not have trouble with the subject materials. Perhaps it is his fellows whom he is afraid of._ “I am here to talk to, if you need it. There are also mind healers in the Halls of Healing, should you find the matter too hard to talk to with myself.”

“I do not need mind healers.”

“Well, I surely do, after the ordeal we just went through,” Qui-Gon says, smiling hesitantly. “You did better than I, on Bandomeer. Your focus was praise-worthy and your behaviour an excellent representation of a padawan several years your senior. I will not hold you to that standard during our time together, but I should expect you to meet it several times over, by the time your Knighting comes. Do you understand, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders rise, his confidence soaring – as does his blush. “Yes, Master, I swear it,” he says feverishly, looking at Qui-Gon with stars in his eyes.

 _Do not look at me like that,_ Qui-Gon wants to say, _for I am the worst Master in the Temple to have raised a padawan who Fell to the Dark. No, Obi-Wan, do not look at me as if I am a good Master._

_You shall surely be disappointed._

Their day together is spent in the Halls of Healing, the Archives doing paperwork in quiet and with the Quartermaster, rearranging rooming assignment. Qui-Gon had moved into a one-bedroom apartment upon Xanatos’ leaving and Obi-Wan requires his own space; the Quartermaster at least does not do him the indignity of affording him his previous apartments, though they are within the same corridor.

Obi-Wan is eager to help him ferry his many plants and teas, though the sheer number of them baffles the young teen. Qui-Gon focuses as much as he can on their jobs for the afternoon – but it is not to be. He cannot so easily forget the events with Kenobi Senior – if he _is_ Kenobi Senior. Obi-Wan’s mother could have been the Kenobi in the relationship.

Qui-Gon himself was taken to the Temple upon discovering abuse from his blood parents. They were scared of his strong presence in the Force and how he would find any and all the insects and animals within their small plot of land. He was old enough to remember, when he was finally removed from their care. Obi-Wan, according to his records, was taken as a newborn after the hospital ran a midichlorian count on their behalf, as is custom for Stewjoni hospitals with babies given up for adoption.

 _I will check his records again when he sleeps,_ Qui-Gon decides. Once the day has passed and dinner eaten, he sends Obi-Wan to bed and recovers his data-file – only to uncover that, as a registered padawan, his file can only be opened by either both Qui-Gon and Jocasta Nu; a Jedi Healer, in the case they need his medical records; or by a Council member. If Qui-Gon wishes to research his padawan more thoroughly, he will need to approach Master Nu – with whom he shares a cold, if cordial relationship due to his lack of time spent in the Archives and purposefully missed shifts as an Archivist during his Knighthood – or ask Obi-Wan himself.

“By the Force,” he mutters, before abandoning his tablet and sitting back. Abruptly, he is reminded of the early morning and it shows by the tent in his robes. Qui-Gon stares at it, blood rushing south as he imagines Ben, again. He covers his face with his hands. _No, no, no…_

_‘Think of me when you touch yourself.’_

“No,” Qui-Gon says aloud. There is a child in the room next to his. The rooms are not soundproof. Only the fresher is and Qui-Gon will not wank off to the memory of his padawan’s father. _It sounds even more depraved, when you put it like that,_ he thinks miserably.

He remembers Ben’s hands. He remembers his lips around his swollen cock and the wet _suck_ – the way he swallowed every last drop and looked impeccable, afterwards. The turquoise really _did_ look exquisite on him, too, those diamonds glittering in the Coruscanti sun…

 _Kark it,_ he thinks viciously, heading towards the fresher like a man possessed. He discards his robes and all his clothes down the laundry shoot, standing in front of the mirror. He can see his own cock, stiff and red; there are marks on his shoulders and scrapes across both his chest and thighs, examples of the previous night’s pleasures when he was drunk enough to give Ben his own. The early morning had been tame, in comparison, though far more direct.

Qui-Gon grips his member, closing his eyes and imagining it is Ben, his sultry voice whispering for him to pull at it and rub back and forth.

Qui-Gon listens when the imaginary voice orders him to stop.

His cock strains, leaking to the fresher floor. His heart pounds and he imagines Ben saying _slow down._ Further, he imagines Ben telling him to stroke and fondle himself, to keep it going until he can’t hold on and let go – and then he would praise him, whispering _good, my darling_. Qui-Gon comes hard to the memory of Ben’s _darling dearest_ and it is not enough, the want still aching inside his chest, even though he’s spent.

 _I could go back,_ he thinks. _He invited me. I can leave a note for Obi-Wan, saying I thought he might be more comfortable sleeping in his new quarters as if they were his alone- but no, I couldn’t do that._ Qui-Gon curses himself, letting go of his cock and cleaning the splatters of his seed methodically, punishing himself for thinking such awful things. He can’t leave Obi-Wan alone. What kind of Master would he to do such things?

 _He’s thirteen,_ a voice whispers in the back of his mind. _You used to go drink with the other Masters once a week when Xanatos was this age._

And that was right – he did used to take a night off once a week from looking after his former padawan. Xanatos had used that night to speak to his father, who demanded to keep contact with his son. It was probably what ultimately leaded to Xanatos’ downfall – but Xanatos knew what Qui-Gon did, on his night off, just like Obi-Wan should.

 _Maybe…_ he hesitates in thinking, but the idea is forming clearly and it makes sense. _Maybe,_ Qui-Gon thinks, _it can be each other’s night of mystery. I never ask what Obi-Wan does and in turn, he never asks me, either. Yes. Yes – that could work. Obi-Wan is older than Xanatos was when he came to me, so he may have other pursuits that may interest him that have nothing to do with me._

It could work. Qui-Gon could imagine it happening. The only problem he can foresee is the other Masters, wondering what he’s doing in Coruscant each week. Of course, Obi-Wan could have an alibi for him: he’s visiting a friend. Qui-Gon does not usually open himself to the Force when he’s inside the Temple, except for meditation, so it’s not as if anyone searching for him would find him – except Master Yoda and a few select others, of course.

 _Yes,_ Qui-Gon decides. _That will do._ Satisfied, he steps into the fresher, double-checking the cleanliness of the room before leaving with a towel around his waist, not expecting Obi-Wan to be in the kitchen.

Squawking, Qui-Gon grabs his towel, Obi-Wan squeaking in surprise, hands rising to cover his face haphazardly.

“Master!”

“Pad- _padawan!_ ” Qui-Gon stutters, “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I- I forgot my evening glass of water,” the boy says, voice dropping halfway through his sentence. Qui-Gon is stone. “I’m sorry!”

“…water. You were getting a glass of water.” Qui-Gon closes his eyes, feeling his adrenaline die back down. “I’m covered adequately, padawan. I suppose this might be the first time we run into each other, but we’re to share quarters. As long as ‘adequate’ is fine, you need not flinch or run when I’m going to and from the fresher. Just don’t deliberately go looking. If you wish to set your own rules, now is the time.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan’s voice quavers. Slowly, his fingers part and he peeks. After another moment, his hands fall down to his sides and he deliberately meets Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Please do not look at me when I am exiting the fresher, if possible.”

“Ignore me as you will,” Qui-Gon says in turn and the accord is met with silence. Obi-Wan’s eyes drift twice, his face flushing. “Yes?”

“…you have bite-marks on your shoulders,” Obi-Wan winces. Qui-Gon closes his eyes. The game is up before it has begun. “You were missing last night,” Obi-Wan continues on, while Qui-Gon is thinking _stop, stop, stop_ -

“Were you attacked?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes pop open. “Attacked?” he repeats.

“Assaulted.”

Obi-Wan is looking at their cooler like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, when Qui-Gon quite believes it his padawan.

“Making love can be violent,” he replies, voice even despite the subject matter, “and no, that does not mean it was rape. It was enjoyable at the time. To me. To the…other.”

“I thought Jedi weren’t allowed attachments?”

“It’s not an attachment,” Qui-Gon says, swallowing hard. _Yet._ “Sexual intercourse can be separate from attachment, as exemplified by Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, father of six and husband to seven. I was not assaulted, Padawan Kenobi and I apologise that the events that occurred caused me to forget you, in the process.”

Obi-Wan looks to him sharply and the realisation comes quickly – as does the disgust and the hurt. Qui-Gon bows deeply as he dares while still holding up his towel.

“If you will excuse me,” he says swiftly, fleeing their living quarters to his bedroom, shutting the door with a silent scream.

 _I AM A KARKING IDIOT!_ He thinks, yelling at himself in his head. _KRIFFING. KARKING. MORON! What will he think of me, now? How wounded will he be inside, knowing what I’ve done? I have abandoned and rejected him so many times, but this is somehow the worst of them – done for petty pleasure and avarice._

Qui-Gon seethes, his self-hatred only growing by the minute. This is why he shouldn’t be a Master. _This_ is why Xanatos Fell – because he brought him up like this. He had good evenings with his friends while Xanatos was forced to hold those conversations with his father, who he should have been given the choice to avoid. Qui-Gon can remember how angry the man was on hearing Xanatos had been ‘adopted’. Qui-Gon left him to that.

Now, his newest padawan thinks that Qui-Gon would give him up for sex.

“I must be better,” he whispers, dragging his nails down his sternum. It brings pain and he relishes it, thinking himself deserving of such sensation for his greed and neglect. “I must be better.”

He will not go to Ben again. He will not think of him or imagine his voice – and he will not let Ben nor Obi-Wan know whom the other is, even if it means separating father and son.

 ** _Especially_** _if it means separating father and son,_ Qui-Gon thinks, eyes full of Xanatos and his own father on that damnable holocall every week, turning blue shadows across the walls of their apartment. _Especially,_ he swears.

Qui-Gon will never go to Ben ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, i somehow fell into Plot and Angst.
> 
> ah well.
> 
> more naughtiness next chapter, probably, with Feelings.

“I’m a Sith, not an idiot.”

Across the table from him, Senator Sheev Palpatine of Naboo stares at him in disbelief. The old man is remarkable, truly – though compared to his power at the height of the Clone Wars and his chancellorship, Obi-Wan believes the man might be _lacking_ , somewhat. It only took Mace Windu to kill him last time.

Obi-Wan is equal to him in that respect, at least. Mace was the only one who could fight him to a stalemate, except Anakin. Palpatine _now_ won’t be a match for him at all.

“…a funny joke, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine says eventually, a small, fake smile upon his face. “I believe this conversation is over.”

“Darth Sidious, _please,_ ” Obi-Wan says, watching the man freeze in place. He lifts his teacup. “I’ve not even finished my tea.”

Palpatine stares at him for a long moment, then sits back in his chair. He does not release his hidden presence – of course, that would be suicide in the heart of Coruscant. For much the same reason, Obi-Wan doesn’t prove himself by making such a mistake, either.

“My Master never said he took another for an apprentice.”

“He didn’t,” Obi-Wan replies cheerily, sipping his beverage. Leaning back, he kicks his feet up onto Palpatine’s desk, enjoying how the old man’s expression withers. “But technically, I’m only a Fallen Jedi. It was my husband who was the Sith and he was quite unable to pass the teachings across to me, unaware that he was that his mentor’s stories and lessons were such things. You know how it goes – the unknowing seduction, the glamorous power and glory one might have as a Sith.”

Palpatine eyes him. “You don’t know the secrets of the Sith,” he says, as if to confirm.

“I’ve spoken to the Holocron of Darth Revan, so _no_ , I _do_ know many secrets of the Sith,” Obi-Wan confirms, watching the pure envy appear on Palpatine’s face with glee. “I just don’t claim a Sith title. I have others. I may be a Darksider, but I am a very, _very_ Dark one. My power comes from words as much as it does the Force.”

“A manipulator,” Palpatine murmurs and oh, there it comes from his lips once more. Obi-Wan can’t help the glittering smile at his words.

“The _Great_ Manipulator,” he gently boasts. Palpatine smiles a little.

“Well, Great Manipulator, how might I trust anything you have told me?”

“I have told you nothing but the truth, the greatest of manipulations,” Obi-Wan claims, still smiling. “I have never met your Master. I am no Sith by name – though my power might be equal. I have spoken to Darth Revan and my allies _do_ call me the Great Manipulator. The only reason you are not dead, Darth Sidious, is because I wish to have an accord.”

Palpatine leans in. “An accord, you say?”

“An accord,” Obi-Wan confirms, finally setting his tea aside, getting down to business. “You will tell me the identity of your Master, both his Sith title and the name he uses currently – and in return I will kill him and any other Sith apprentices he recruits. You know the Rule.”

“Only two.”

“I do not count as a Sith, but let’s not pretend – we’ll be enemies the moment you take your own Apprentice. Why don’t we do each other the courtesy of killing the other before I find that out,” Obi-Wan says, expression eerie as he waits for Palpatine’s reply.

He’s not surprised by the smile. “I’m not quite finished with my Master, yet, I’m sure you understand. Until I am, though, I will gladly keep your presence secret from him. Similarly, you will not kill me and take my place under him.”

“That would require me _wanting_ to,” Obi-Wan replies wryly, standing. “A standing tea, perhaps? Once a month?”

“I am often called home to Naboo, dear Master Kenobi,” Palpatine affects a sombre visage, nodding as if he were only a simple Senator, “but do call when you can. I will be sure to receive you, should I have a spare moment.”

“If you do not have a name, then I will only need to know you are busy,” the time traveller replies, voice like ice. His eyes, forever-gold, don’t need to change for Palpatine to realise that their existence is his truth, instead of his biology. The Senator stares as he stiffly bows. “Good afternoon.”

Turning, Obi-Wan leaves quickly, angry he does not have the name. _Too early,_ he thinks, clenching his fists. _Too early? What secrets does his Master yet keep? Palpatine is old – but he survives to become the Master. I have ten years before Jango Fett is used to create the Clone Army – which is a both a waste and yet not. Those men were good to us, but they should not have lived in the first place._

Obi-Wan knows too little. Palpatine is still the Apprentice and he holds the cards, unless Obi-Wan wants to do something drastic. Killing Jango wouldn’t prevent the Clone Army, only change their progenitor – and that would get the True Mandalorians on his back, anyhow. They aren’t dead, yet. Dooku hasn’t even Fallen yet.

… _wait, when does Dooku even Fall?_ An absurd comment flows through his mind, sounding somewhat like, _What if I stop that?_ Obi-Wan grinds his teeth as he walks the Senate, thinking hard. To Fall is a choice he cannot take out from under Dooku’s feet like that. He was the expert on ancient artefacts and Sith histories, in any case – he knew exactly what he was getting into, better than Anakin and Obi-Wan did. Better than Ventress, better than Maul…

His lip twitches. _I need to find out if Qui-Gon is going to show up at my apartment._ Should he, Obi-Wan can figure out a time to go off-planet and take Maul and his brothers out of the hands of the Nightsisters. Men mean nothing to those women – if their mother even cares, Obi-Wan would be surprised. Though, perhaps he shouldn’t discount the woman, yet. Precognition is his skill as much as it is any Force-sensitive’s and she might see him coming.

Obi-Wan’s frown returns. No. He can’t deal with Maul or Savage until they show themselves – until they Fall. It’s Palpatine, any secret apprentices he may have and the Master of them all, that Obi-Wan needs to kill. They’re blights upon the Republic.

Obi-Wan has no compulsions against killing or using the Dark Side of the Force – but destabilising the entire Galaxy is ridiculous and obscene, no matter how ‘challenging’ it is. Unless the universe deigns to run itself into the ground as it did in Obi-Wan’s timeline, despite his efforts, only then will Obi-Wan attempt to take over as Emperor – at least he bothered to do the damn paperwork, last time.

 _And to think,_ Obi-Wan slips past a crowd of journalists and holo-takers, _I was pregnant at the time. Yes, Anakin, fight insurrection across the Galaxy and restore ‘order’, leaving Padme behind to control the Senate and me to do all the planning on how we’re actually going to run the damn Galaxy! I wasn’t kriffing carrying Luke and Leia the entire time, **no** and Padme wasn’t running herself ragged keeping a karking **Rebellion** from forming!_

Fuming, Obi-Wan calls an air-taxi, barking out his address. The taxi-driver is quick, to be fair. When he arrives, he pays the credits and rides the elevator to the top, pleasantly startled at the familiar Force-presence in his apartment.

 _Ten days,_ he opens his door slowly, looking inside. _And here I thought he’d resist more._

“Afternoon?” Obi-Wan calms his anger, releasing it into the Force in a rather more Jedi-like manoeuvre than he’d like. _I can think about my ex-family later._ “Qui-Gon? You’re the only one allowed in here, except me…”

On the sofa, Qui-Gon lies practically catatonic, staring at the ceiling. Obi-Wan doesn’t let his frown form, though his worry increases as he approaches and Qui-Gon doesn’t react.

“Master Jinn,” he murmurs, leaning on the tall side of the sofa as he reaches to take one of his hands. Qui-Gon finally looks at him, gaze flickering to meet Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan raises a hand to his lips, kissing it in comfort, rubbing the skin of his wrist. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

“Obi-Wan.”

Startling, he nearly misses Qui-Gon’s reaction to his shock.

“So, you know,” the Jedi says, looking away from him. “I confess, you look much alike. Too much alike. It has brought me much grief to keep you from my padawan.”

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan gapes, realising starkly that Qui-Gon means to say _he thinks Young Obi-Wan is his son._ “Oh, Master Jinn, what has _happened?_ ”

“Many things,” Qui-Gon says, eyes closing. His other arm lays across his chest – but now he presses it there, like he’s trying to hold something tightly. A grimace flits across his face and he opens his eyes again, looking to Obi-Wan in remorse. “I did something and my padawan was alerted to the problem almost immediately. I was quite shocked at myself, really and…and he saw.”

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan starts, only to smell something that makes him sit up sharply. _Copper,_ he thinks, nose suddenly _full_ of it. He reaches out sharply, grabbing Qui-Gon’s other wrist and pulling up the sleeve to reveal a blood-soaked bandage. Appalled, he climbs onto Qui-Gon’s lap, pulling him to a sitting position with one hand. “Why in all the karking hells would you do this, Qui-Gon?” he asks, furious.

_This **never happened** in my timeline. I did **not** catch my Master bleeding in the fresher- or wherever else it was!_

“He saw you? My- my son?” Obi-Wan asks, dedicating himself to this lie. “He saw you?”

“I cried out in the Force,” Qui-Gon admits, only Obi-Wan’s tight grip on his robes keeping him upright. Obi-Wan moves, listening to Qui-Gon’s every word as he twists the elder man around, moving his legs off of the sofa and crowding him, sticking like glue as he sits beside him. “Obi-Wan heard me and came running. He used an emergency passkey to open the fresher and found me- found me bleeding.”

His voice is a whisper – his shame clear.

“He sat me down and cleaned my wound. It still bled, so he bound it and told me to stay sat where I was so he could retrieve a Healer. It did not even occur to him to use the wall channels – he just _ran_.”

“Qui-Gon, they are most likely on wide alert looking for you,” Obi-Wan says quietly, feeling his own shame begin to grow behind his shields. _The only difference between this time and mine…is me. I did this._ He reaches up, brushing a stray hair that has fallen out of Qui-Gon’s bun behind his ear. “My darling, you need to go back.”

“No, I cannot. If I am lost, Obi-Wan will be given a new Master. He is a padawan worthy of such a designation.”

“Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon, _no_ ,” he replies, shaking his head, hearing the despondent tone to his voice. “You are not going to be _lost_. You will be a good Master, better than this. The only way is up. I promise you, he can come to believe in you, love you-”

“How can he love me?” Qui-Gon practically snarls, “How can that boy love me when he _knows_ I abandoned him outside my door for _you?_ He knows! He knows he slept outside my quarters all night, while I was out seeking _sex!_ That boy will never love me, not when he knows the truth of my heart. I am selfish, a repugnant man and even worse Master. He deserves so much better than I.”

“…and what if he does?” Obi-Wan says quietly, after all is said. Qui-Gon looks at him, actually paying attention to him. “What if he does deserve better? It won’t matter. You’re all he gets. Anyone else will be a replacement, ordered by the Council because of tradition. He proved himself to _you_ , not to anyone else. And if that boy is anything, _anything_ like me…”

Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “Then he already thinks the world of you. All that he has seen today will only enhance that. He is probably the most determined of everyone in the Temple who is looking for you. Is he clairvoyant like me? Do you think, if he is, that he is scouring the Force as he looks for you, listening and watching for any hint as to where you are? To know if you yet live?”

“He can’t – he wouldn’t,” Qui-Gon protests, whimpering. Obi-Wan drags him into an embrace, feeling him shudder and hearing his sobs. Obi-Wan had not planned for this. He had thought of his great revenge, of keeping the Galaxy from coming under Sith rule – _this is not Balance, Anakin!_ – and nothing else.

A part of him thinks up excuses. He was too young, he couldn’t have known his Master was this close to breaking – but really, Obi-Wan knows he is guilty of this. He has tipped a man to breaking point, however unknowingly. This is not something to be enjoyed or savoured. Obi-Wan had meant to use his trauma and heal it the wrong way.

 _The Great Manipulator,_ he thinks, stewing in his own idiocy. _No, I am the Great, Oblivious, Anakin-Lookalike. How foolish of me, how sightless!_

Arms still wrapped around him, Obi-Wan opens himself up to the Light Side of the Force, however much it burns and sticks to his Darkness like fire. It’s a familiar practice, one he knows the Dark can’t be detected through – it was necessary, when raising Luke and Leia. Neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin wanted their children to touch the Dark until they were prepared and Padme had agreed, when it was explained to her.

Using that Light, Obi-Wan reaches out and places a suggestion of sleep. Slow-acting, it lets Qui-Gon cry a little longer, grief permeating the Force around them until finally, he begins to drop off. Obi-Wan gathers him against his chest, stroking his head and laying butterfly kisses to his forehead.

“Oh, Master,” he sighs when Qui-Gon finally slips into slumber. Laying him out on the sofa, Obi-Wan goes to his office, recalling the frequency of his own communicator in this time period after a moment of careful thought.

_Obi-Wan will want to be here._

He calls, waiting barely longer than a click before his own, young voice on the verge of breaking comes through.

“ _Hello? Who is this? Master?_ ”

“Padawan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan greets quietly, “I need you to come to an address – alone.”

“ _Who are you? I don’t have time for this._ ” The call ends abruptly and Obi-Wan calls back, being patient with himself… _oh, how that’s a mind-twister. I should just call myself Ben and let that be the end of it._

“Don’t hang up this time,” he says, when Obi-Wan starts to growl something at him across the line. “Your Master is here with me. He’s alive, Padawan.”

There’s a moment where Obi-Wan thinks- _oh, for kriff’s sake, **Ben** then- _where _Ben_ thinks his younger self is going to start interrogating him, but the next voice that comes through is not Obi-Wan’s, but Master Yoda’s.

“ _Where my padawan is, you tell me now._ ”

“Master Yoda, how unpleasant to greet you for the first time during this…situation,” Ben murmurs. “I am in my apartment in high Coruscant with Qui-Gon. He’s asleep, after quite the emotional day. Why hasn’t he seen a therapist since returning to Coruscant? What happened with Xanatos has shattered him, Master Yoda.”

“ _Know of Xanatos, you do?_ ” the Grandmaster asks, sounding more curious than wary.

“Yes,” Ben says, moving to the doorway to watch Qui-Gon’s chest rise up and down. He’ll have to wake him, before they arrive. Explaining the cover-story will be important not just for Qui-Gon, but for his younger counterpart, too. “Qui-Gon and I have been acquainted for several years. He fled to my apartment, ashamed of what his padawan saw. He asked for him, after we talked over matters.”

Yoda harrumphs. “ _Talk to Qui-Gon, I would._ ”

“No,” Ben denies.

“ _No? Grandpadawan-mine, he is. Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, I am. Speak to my Jedi, I will._ ”

“He is no Jedi right now. He is a broken and more importantly, _napping_ , man,” Ben replies with something of a smile, though it’s small. “He’s asleep, Master Yoda. You can’t talk to him right now. We talked about what he wanted me to do, though and I’m doing it. We’d like Obi-Wan to come to my apartment to see him, please. He’s old enough to take an air-taxi by himself and you can even lodge my address in the Archives – but just him. Is that agreeable?”

“ _Agreeable, it is not. Anyone, you could be._ ”

“My name is Ben Kenobi.”

The answering silence is long and weighty. Ben knows what they are thinking, if anyone other than Yoda can hear. Kenobi – a Kenobi that Qui-Gon has known for several years, who knows Xanatos’ name and what happened to him. Suddenly, Qui-Gon’s rejections of Obi-Wan seem more valid, for he doesn’t want to seem biased, to the point of letting his friend’s son joining the AgriCorps instead of taking him on as a padawan. It gives him the moral high ground, even with his mental breakdown.

If only Qui-Gon were awake to hear of it.

There is a crackle of the comm, before Obi-Wan’s voice comes through, thin and reedy with nerves.

“ _What is your address?_ ”

“I’ll send the coordinates to your communicator,” Ben says, “and I’ll expect you here in two hour’s mark and not a minute before. He was lying on my sofa when I came home, so I don’t know how long he’s been here and how long he was staring at the ceiling.”

“ _I- I found him at noon-meal, when I was retrieving my class materials._ ”

Ben checks his chrono, wincing. “Alright, make that a single hour mark, then. Even if it means you’re waiting in the lobby the entire time. I’m going to hang up, now.”

“ _Wait!_ ” Obi-Wan exclaims, a long pause following before he asks, “ _Are- are we related?_ ”

“Obi-Wan,” Ben says gently, as if he’s telling Leia a secret only she gets to know, “I’m told we look identical.”

And then, he hangs up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts, like----- Qui-Gon seriously in a funk, here, guys.

Qui-Gon awakes and for a long moment, he has no idea where he is.

Then Ben takes his unbandaged wrist, bringing his hand up to kiss it. He is tender and his presence in the Force like water, slipping through Qui-Gon’s senses. Belatedly, the Jedi thinks it strange for a non-Jedi to have such a Force presence – but then he recalls that Ben _is_ Force-sensitive and self-taught, at that.

“My friend,” he murmurs. Slowly, his emotions bubble again under his shields, like gaping black holes, full of malicious numbness. _You have not done enough,_ he thinks of himself, _you are not worthy of your own life._ “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to be forgiven – you need help, clearly.” Ben says and he looks sad as he stares at Qui-Gon, who sits up from his place on the sofa, shaking his head.

“I have come when I should not have. My burdens are not yours to carry. I am not yours to carry. I never should have come here.”

_I should have died in the streets of Coruscant and let the scavengers of the Undercity have my remains._

But Ben grips his hand fiercely, reaching to cup his cheek as he firmly says, “No. You were right to come here. I will always welcome you – for this, for gratification, for anything you are willing to give me. This was not what either of us planned, but it is our reality.” He pauses, before reluctantly saying, “Obi-Wan is on his way.”

Qui-Gon tenses. “How?” he asks. “I abandoned my comm.”

“I know my son’s frequency, though I should not have sought it in the first place,” Ben says, eyes flickering away, briefly as he steels himself, hand squeezing. “You Jedi would call it ‘attachment’. I have precognition – what I saw as he grew made me frightened. I still worry, though not just for him anymore. You are among the few who I would…”

“Cherish?”

“Who I would call my own,” Ben corrects, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. He will be here at hour’s mark.”

Qui-Gon sags. _Here_. Obi-Wan will see the truth of things – how can he hide this? Obi-Wan will know, Obi-Wan will tell-

“Master Yoda has called off the search for you.”

The name is a punch to the gut. Qui-Gon sucks in a startled breath. “Master Yoda?”

Ben nods.

“How?” Qui-Gon says, demanding an answer. He looks up at Ben feverishly, his life flashing before his eyes. _Yoda knows I have a weakness of the mind, Yoda will take Obi-Wan away from me._ “Ben, you said Obi-Wan is coming, not Yoda.”

“Yes. I convinced Yoda not to come, hopefully,” Ben says, standing and letting Qui-Gon’s hand fall. When the palm against his cheek disappears, Qui-Gon feels the loss of it like a piece of clothing. He quickly meets Ben’s height, adjusting the drifted cut of his robes from sleep and wincing at the sharp sting beneath his bandages, the wound aching deep and pulsing with the beat of his heart.

“Hour’s mark, you said. Why- _what_ is Obi-Wan coming for? To take me back, like some wayward lifeform?” Qui-Gon asks, vitriol sharper than intended – coming from his pain and his anguish. It feels like a step to the Dark, like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. “You should not have called him.”

“I needed to,” Ben replies, voice edged with something hard. His eyes seem alight, his face twisting with anger. His shields are impressive. Qui-Gon does not feel the usual signs of anger in the Force – and Ben’s face reveals how angry he truly is. If this is evidence of the power of the Kenobi line, then truly, Obi-Wan would benefit from a better Master than he.

“Your son deserves better.”

Ben flinches and Qui-Gon presses his advantage.

“He is strong in the Force. He is talented, wilful and his subconscious control and understanding of the Unifying Force is far beyond me. Having a teacher better suited to his gifts can only benefit him – my _death_ would benefit him.”

He watches Ben, thinking the man might be swayed on behalf of his son; but he must be missing a key fact, for Ben’s expressions and words are the exact opposite of what Qui-Gon would expect from a stranger.

“ _No,_ ” the man swears, eyes pained and wide, like his words are the end of all things. “Your death would not benefit him at _all_. Qui-Gon, _no_ – no, you can’t believe that? Obi-Wan needs you for a mentor. You are brash and cruel at times, but you hold a mindset he in unfamiliar with; you are a cadence in the symphony of the Force that he hears and cannot recognise- _would_ not recognise, until you were gone. You _belong_ in this world. Your life is not yours to take away, not like this!”

“And what of Obi-Wan’s power? I can do nothing for him!” Qui-Gon argues, but the response is weak in his confusion.

“What is there to his power in the Unifying Force, if he has no understanding of the other aspects?” Ben says, hands grasping the sofa’s back in frustration. His eyes are full of pain. “The Living Force, the Cosmic Force – these are things he is ignorant of and _needs_ you to tutor him in. His power will always be part of him, but he must be given the chance to choose _different._ He will come to love you and cherish you as a father. To lose you would be agony – especially now, especially _right now_ , when you have finally given him what he had given up on being.”

“I- I am not his father,” Qui-Gon staggers. The enormity of his failures weigh on him even more than before. Was he supposed to be Xanatos’ father? _Is_ he Obi-Wan’s father, now?

“You are. You will be – and I support you in that, whole-heartedly, Qui-Gon,” Ben says, softening. He murmurs, _begs._ “Please. Be that. Don’t change – grow better, maybe. But don’t leave. Not like this.”

“I am suicidal,” Qui-Gon replies, numb. “How can I take charge of a child?”

“With _help_ ,” Ben says, moving around the sofa and taking his hands, dragging him into the centre of the room, in the empty space between the living area, the bedroom door, the kitchen and the exit. He rubs his thumbs against the pads Qui-Gon’s palms. “You _know_ Obi-Wan deserves the honour of being a Knight. You’ve seen it – he convinced you.”

Qui-Gon nods. “He did.”

“But now…now may be the time for him to see _you_ ,” Ben says, words coming to him slowly. “You are hurt. You doubt yourself. It is a time for honesty, perhaps. Xanatos’ betrayal hurt you. Your grief is fresh and more vicious than fire. It gnaws away at you.”

The Jedi Master crumbles, for Ben is right. Every word reaches the depths of his soul, for his shields do nothing for any outward influences – and all the emotions rife beneath them make his psyche as easy to cut through as butter. He leaves Ben’s grip, reaching to hold him instead, pressing their foreheads together, coming close.

Ben’s breath catches. “Qui-Gon?”

“He won’t be here until the hour’s mark. I can’t explain it twice,” Qui-Gon pleads, begging for a distraction. It makes sense to him, in his calamitous state of mind. “Make me forget my own horrors, until then.”

“ _Qui-Gon._ ”

“Ben,” he whispers, ragged, pressing their lips together. Ben’s hands surge upwards, grasping his shoulders as his spine curls backwards, Qui-Gon bearing over him like a wild beast. “ _Ben_ ,” Qui-Gon says again, before the other man surges away from him, pushing him back. In shock, Qui-Gon’s legs fall out from beneath him and he thunders to the floor, knees smarting – but he doesn’t care. “Ben, please,” he begs, eyes wide.

Ben is staring at him, stunned. His eyes flash with awe, with shock – and most confusingly of all, _victory._ Qui-Gon does not know why, but right now he does not care. His padawan is coming to this apartment and they will have to talk – they will have to discuss everything that has happened today and Qui-Gon is past embarrassment.

Why won’t Ben help him forget?

Quieter than a shadow, Ben joins him on the ground. His hands rise, snagging in his bound hair as he holds Qui-Gon’s head steady. Their eyes meet and Ben is silent, watching him. The tension rises. Qui-Gon’s heart pounds, though it still feels as if it has been shredded from the inside. _Xanatos!_ It screams. _Obi-Wan!_

“Making love does not make one forget the things that matter,” Ben says, voice low and steady. “In fact, it may make things worse, especially when young Obi-Wan finally arrives. I lied to him and Master Yoda, when I contacted him.”

“What did you say?” Qui-Gon asks, barely feeling as if he is talking at all. The urge to take his own life grows in power and he wants for something sharp. Master Yoda – what does the old gremlin think of him? Is he disgusted? Better to die than find out.

“I told them we had been friends for many years,” Ben says, still so _calm_. He keeps a hold on him, steady like a rock. Qui-Gon feels bound to the universe, when Ben touches him so. “I told them we knew each other and that my name was – and is – Ben Kenobi.”

_Ben Kenobi._

Qui-Gon breaths in steadily. It’s the last piece of the puzzle, though he knew that Ben sired his padawan already – that Ben had confirmed his thoughts to be true. His name, though…somehow, Qui-Gon thought it would be different. Other. Unfamiliar.

“Kenobi,” he murmurs, before Ben leans forwards, pressing their lips together sweetly. It feels like permission and as he kisses back, lips alone, he feels Ben pull him to his feet. They glide together, Ben leading him to his bedroom. Qui-Gon rids himself of his robe, adrenaline rushing through him. It feels lifeless in the face of all the dark emotions in his head, but Ben is a spark – he keeps him focussed.

“What do you want?” Ben asks, though his voice lacks that headiness of the week before. Qui-Gon feels like he’s seeing a new side to him. “Tell me,” he coaxes, so _soft._

“Touch me, please. Tell-” and Qui-Gon’s throat catches, his eyes burning. “Tell me I’m good.”

“Oh, _Qui-Gon_ ,” Ben says, falling apart. He drags Qui-Gon down, crawling over the top of him, pressing kisses to his neck and his clothed shoulder. “You are so good. So good to me. You did so well, coming here when you were afraid.”

“I was?” Qui-Gon can’t help but ask, hoarse.

Ben deliberately meets his eyes, hand taking his chin. “ _Yes,_ ” he says, full of conviction; and it’s so strange, because Qui-Gon believes him.

“I was good,” the Jedi Master whispers, feeling a small degree of solace. “I was good.”

“You were, you _were,_ ” Ben whispers, before he undoes Qui-Gon’s belt and pushes aside his tunic. Wavy copper hair falls across his face, shadowing his skin and making his golden eyes seem brighter for it. Qui-Gon is fascinated by Ben’s beauty, how similar he is to his son and yet, so _different_ – so _gilded_ and _sharp._ Obi-Wan has yet to grow into the nose that Ben suits so well and they share the same, dark sunspot on their right cheeks.

Hands run down his chest, making him shiver from the cold metal of Ben’s rings, brushing the curled brown hair, there. Ben kisses his chest, then worries the skin above his trouser-line with his teeth, pulling them down, too, with Qui-Gon’s help. His cock springs free, half-hard, but growing taller by the moment. Ben wastes no time in sucking him down, making Qui-Gon hiss and screw his eyes shut.

Up and down, oh the sweet heat of his mouth! Qui-Gon gasps and groans, unable to help himself when he reaches to push Ben’s head down, the other man allowing it – moving his jaw to take more of him. Qui-Gon’s eyelids flutter, feeling Ben’s hands on his balls and around the base of him.

“I’m going- I’m going to-”

Ben pulls his lips off him with a wet sound that goes right to Qui-Gon’s dick. “You’re going to what, my dear? Tell me.”

“I’m going to ejaculate. Soon.”

“How lovely,” Ben says, pert lips twisting around the tip of his cock, licking the foreskin alone. Qui-Gon looks up at him, glaring. Ben smiles, tracing his leaking slit and wiggling his tongue until Qui-Gon is thumping the mattress of the bed, on edge, nerves on fire.

At the base of him, Ben squeezes and rubs. “Do you want to come in my mouth? Do you want to see me swallow it, Qui-Gon? All the product of your _ejaculation_ , like syrup…and it actually tastes like sugar,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “You aren’t fully Human if your come tastes like sugar.”

“What does that matter?” Qui-Gon moans. “I want to come, _desperately._ ”

“Soon, my dearest darling,” Ben says, soothingly, rubbing harder. “How close are you? How much more do you think you can take?”

“You’ve already taken forever,” he grasps at nothing, frustrated and hard beyond belief. “I’m so _close!_ ”

Ben’s eyes flicker behind him, to the bedside table. “Yes. Let’s deal with that, hm?” His mouth wraps around him again, sucking hard – and it is enough to break the dam. Qui-Gon comes with a shout, spurting into Ben’s mouth; and like he said he would, he swallows it all. Qui-Gon stares at him in a daze, so very, so…

So _obsessed_ with this man.

Ben takes it all, licking him clean before politely pulling his pants up, expression guarded. “It’s two minutes till the hour, Qui-Gon. I told Obi-Wan he’d better wait in the lobby until then, if he showed up early.”

All at once, Qui-Gon seizes and not even the sated feeling of pleasure can save him from the full length of his despair. It rings in the Force and hundreds of floors beneath him, he can feel the answering ping of a youngling. _Obi-Wan,_ he thinks, all his depression and fearful, cowardly tendencies returning.

“I can’t,” he says, pleading. Ben pulls him to his feet, hands in his. “Ben-”

“You can and you will. Obi-Wan needs to hear your confessions, Qui-Gon,” he says in a no-nonsense voice. Ben lets Qui-Gon’s hands drop, reaching for Qui-Gon’s robe where it lies on the floor. Qui-Gon watches helplessly as Ben hangs it up on a nearby coat-peg by the door, before finally taking off his own garment, the large black swathe of fabric glittering like the night sky as it joins the plain, brown robe of a Jedi.

 _He is here,_ Qui-Gon thinks, _my padawan came for me._ His arm aches sharply, then.

“I’m going to call him up,” Ben says, “and you will be waiting for him on the sofa. You have been through an ordeal and you will explain it all to him. In turn, ask him of his own feelings. They are not to be ashamed of. The way of the Jedi is to understand your own feelings and let the Force take them, for letting emotion decide your actions is antithesis to the Code.”

“Which is exactly what I have done.”

“Indeed,” Ben says, before exiting the bedroom, leaving Qui-Gon alone to his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Thoughts of his Master consume him.

Obi-Wan imagines Qui-Gon wandering through Coruscant with no thought to his own safety, blood soaking through his bandages and his eyes distant. Finding his Master in their shared fresher had been _horrifying_ and he’s pretty sure there’s still blood on his padawan robes – maybe that’s why the guard at the base of the apartment tower had looked at him so strangely.

Taking the lift up to the correct floor – the name _KENOBI_ printed in Aurebesh beside the numbered button so other-worldly and strange to look at – Obi-Wan struggles to keep himself calm in the Force. His emotions are extreme. Worry, fear and relief in equal measures flood his body and he can _feel_ his Master, getting closer and closer.

Obi-Wan can almost forget who _else_ awaits him, as he rings the apartment controls.

There’s a long moment of silence, before the door opens – and it is like looking to the future in his dreams, when he’s a fighter and a Master in his own right. Obi-Wan barely remembers those dreams, but looking at Ben Kenobi, now, Obi-Wan wonders if he was dreaming of someone else entirely.

Dressed in dark trousers, knee-high boots and a gossamer silk shirt, the copper of his hair brings out the molten gold of his eyes and his matching jewellery, that looks almost yellow in the light. Obi-Wan stares.

“…come inside,” the man directs, stepping out of the way and revealing the pale form of his Master, who looks desolate at the sight of Obi-Wan. Contrary to his Master’s reaction, Obi-Wan is overjoyed and he rushes forwards, ignoring Ben Kenobi as he wraps his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist, burrowing his head in his tunics.

“ _Master!_ ” Obi-Wan cries, “I thought I’d lost you!”

“Padawan…” Arms tentatively wrap around his shoulders and Obi-Wan squeezes tighter, not wanting to let go. This is his Master, whom he _proved_ himself to. “I can feel your turmoil. I apologise.”

“No – no Master, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan assures, looking up at him, eyes brimming with tears. He sniffs at the expression on his Master’s face. “Just- just don’t do that again. Please?”

“I cannot promise that,” Qui-Gon says regretfully and Obi-Wan grips him tighter in retaliation. “It is not something I can control. The- the _impulse_ I felt earlier today was…not unforeseeable. Neither was it unprecedented.”

“What?” There comes the voice of Ben Kenobi again, his tone sharp like a whip-crack. Qui-Gon looks to him and even Obi-Wan can’t help but sneak a glance, flinching at the anger written all over Ben’s face – and nowhere in the Force. The dichotomy is unexpected and… _frightening_ , to Obi-Wan.

“When I was a Padawan, I…” Qui-Gon starts, before Ben makes his way over to them, standing close enough that Obi-Wan can feel where his arm brushes his shoulder. He holds his breath.

“Share this with me – with _us_ ,” Ben says, correcting himself.

“Please, Master,” Obi-Wan whispers, looking up at him. Qui-Gon rubs Obi-Wan’s shoulders soothingly – but who he is trying to comfort is unknown. “Tell us.”

“I- I felt to much extremes, as a Youngling. Master Dooku was as much my Master as he was my keeper, at times and my mind unravelled under criticism. Punishing myself is a bad habit I had long forgotten I used to partake in,” Qui-Gon says, sounding ashamed and slightly distant. One of his hands drift to his neck, twisting in loose strands of hair that have escaped his topknot.

Before Obi-Wan realises what is happening, Ben is reaching out, grasping the hand tightly, holding it in place.

“Don’t,” he says, warning clear. Qui-Gon blinks, before recoiling and letting go of his hair, pressing the hand to his forehead instead.

“A sign of things to come,” his Master mutters, shaking his head. Obi-Wan frowns in confusion. Pulling his own hair is not a habit he has observed from Master Jinn so far – not many Masters hold any physical impulses, to be fair. It is obvious when one does. Among the Jedi, mental techniques in holding and creating shields are far more noticeable.

“We should move this to the seating area – and get through introductions,” Ben says, looking to Obi-Wan. The padawan shies away from him.

“You are my father, Ben Kenobi. Clearly.”

Ben says nothing as they indeed move to the sofas, Obi-Wan sitting between Ben and his Master. It makes him uncomfortable, thinking of this person as his father – the Jedi give up their biological families and all attachments, to remain pure from bias.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon starts quietly, “I will not lie to you. We have previously had a conversation over my evening habits. Ben partakes with me, on occasion.”

His words take a long moment to process. _Evening habits_ , Obi-Wan thinks, realising that his Master is referring to his sexual escapades. He is unable to contain his shock.

“You have had sex with my _father?_ ” Obi-Wan exclaims, looking between them. His Master looks ashamed, but Ben has a slightly pleased look about his admittedly pink face. “I- I have stumbled on something that I should not have,” he mutters, feeling scandalised. “You and my _father_ , Master?”

“It was not something I was… _aware of_ , the first time,” Qui-Gon murmurs. “Please forgive me. Your apprenticeship will be in question, your Knighthood mayhaps not even attainable under my tutelage-”

“Enough,” Ben says, even as Obi-Wan swallows the hard lump in his throat. Ben’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder and there is a crackle in the Force; like recognising like. Obi-Wan’s vision zooms in on Ben, who meets his eyes: they are the only thing that differentiates them. Gold versus blue. “Obi-Wan, your Master has his own problems to deal with, but let me assure you: there will come a day when you will be a Jedi Knight and it will be because of Qui-Gon that you got there.”

“But what if his problems _do_ affect me?” Obi-Wan questions, before deftly ignoring his Master’s flinch as he asks, “What if he kills himself the day we look away, trusting him not to? I do not even know why he has done this to himself. He is right to worry over my future. That is what Masters do. His actions reflect on me.”

“As do your own,” Ben counters, “and I know you will become a Knight. Like you, the future is open to me in visions and dreams.”

“You see yourself,” Obi-Wan disagrees, his thoughts from earlier returning. “We are identical and the future I have seen is…strange.”

“Strange, but not untrue, in another universe,” Ben says and there is finality to his words. He looks away from Obi-Wan, to Qui-Gon. “Tell him why you hurt yourself. _Talk_ to him.”

“I have no wish to tell him.”

“But you will do it anyway, or I will request of Yoda to bar you from leaving the Halls of Healing when you return to the Jedi Temple,” Ben says and the threat is delivered with a certainty that could only come from the Force – his confidence is too sure, Obi-Wan thinks, for it to be anything else.

“I want to know,” he adds, backing Ben’s claim. Qui-Gon trembles, as if the Obi-Wan’s question is too much. Unwillingly, Obi-Wan lowers the high standards he thought Qui-Gon set, just by existing. His Master is weak-

 _But no, he is not weak. He had the strength to make that decision – he had the strength to come here,_ Obi-Wan determines. _His power is redirected in all the wrong places. He is not weak._

Clutching his Master’s hand, Obi-Wan readies himself for any verbal blow Qui-Gon might wreak upon him. His behaviour, since arriving has been…well, _clingy_ might be a word to describe it. Certainly, he should not have hugged him like he did. He must respect Qui-Gon, as his Master and as a Jedi worthy of that respect.

 _He is failing you, though, he admitted it himself,_ another part whispers. Obi-Wan listens to it only for a moment before he acknowledges the truth of it; then, he discards those thoughts, folding his revelations into another, different clarification of their situation. _He is failing you, but admitting he has a problem is part of his recovery and his way to ensure you have a Master that will train you to be a Jedi Knight._

“Tell me the truth, Master Qui-Gon. I _must_ know.”

His Master closes his eyes, bringing Obi-Wan’s hands to his lips and kissing them, his apology clear.

“I do not believe myself a worthy Master of you. I tried to join the Force, so that you might have been granted a Master who would cultivate your gifts,” Qui-Gon says and his words are a blow, no matter how Obi-Wan keeps his spine straight and steady.

“You- you wanted to rely on tradition to keep me within the Order,” Obi-Wan elucidates, before questioning him. “Why do you value yourself so little, my Master? I think highly of you – was that never clear?”

“You are a child, my padawan and there are things of me you do not know.”

Obi-Wan bristles. “Then teach me,” he snaps, immediately regretting it. He bows his head. “I am sorry, Master.”

“Do not be sorry. I have failed you already and it hasn’t even been a full cycle,” Qui-Gon says and there is a dark humour to his voice that Obi-Wan wants to erase. “My follies are…numerous. What Xanatos did to us both is a product of my failed teachings.”

“Xanatos’ actions were his own,” Ben cuts in, “and his father was in contact with him. He questioned the Order with every conversation they held – missed things that the Order teaches to forget or never lets one experience. Temptation was his doom. His strength of will was not yours to bolster, only he could do that.”

Fascinated by Ben’s words, Obi-Wan only briefly wonders how Ben knows of these things – Qui-Gon told him, obviously. That Ben had realised such characteristics existed in Xanatos second-hand, though… _unless they met,_ Obi-Wan thinks. _Perhaps Ben and Xanatos knew each other, too._ A strange spark flares in him that Obi-Wan does not understand, surrounding the idea of Qui-Gon’s old padawan knowing his father, when he does not.

_…is this jealousy?_

As he thinks these things, Qui-Gon wavers. “It is not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is – but you cannot take the blame for his Fall on yourself. The Order already thinks that. Don’t let it consume you any more than it already has.”

“What are you going to do, now?” Obi-Wan asks. “Will you come back to the Temple with me? Your wrist…”

“The bandages you placed there have held, but it is long past the time where it needed bacta immediately,” Ben tells him, “Time will heal as well as medicine. He should still go, though, for the reduced healing time.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Qui-Gon asks, humorous, yet tired.

“No,” Obi-Wan and Ben say as one, the two voices in stereo humming in the Force. Qui-Gon looks at them both in nascent wonder. Obi-Wan looks under his lashes at his father, embarrassed.

“Will you come to the Temple?”

“…no,” Ben says, after a pause. “It is not my place. You are always welcome here, the both of you, but the Temple is not for me to enter. The Jedi way is closed to me.”

“What do you _do?_ ” Obi-Wan wonders aloud, curiosity itching in the back of his brain. Qui-Gon squeezes his hand, while Ben answers in a vague tone.

“Senate work. Administration, mostly – event planning. I have been building my relationships with various political bodies, in an attempt to change the judicial system.”

“Does it need changing?”

“In reference to procedure regarding the Expansion Region, Outer Rim and Wild Space: yes. Core planets find help much easier to gain and laws that affect change here usually have little to no effect the further out you go,” Ben says, obviously well learned in his subject of choice. He nods to Obi-Wan. “The Jedi go through the Senate for most things. You rely on the Republic’s guiding hand, when you should act as the autonomous nation you are, separate from the Senate, with your own seat and vote.”

“That is ridiculous,” Qui-Gon mutters. “I might be the Maverick, but even I don’t believe we need a Senate seat.”

“The need for it in coming years may make you change your mind,” Ben states and there is a specific tone to his voice that makes Obi-Wan suspect there is something he is not saying, in lieu of making them guess – as does Qui-Gon.

“What might?” his Master questions, wary.

“…it will come, regardless. The winds of change are blowing and they are cold winds,” says Ben, his eyes flashing. “Have you noticed how the conglomerates have been circling? The guilds and the unions that make their money from the Colonies-outward? Laws have been put in place that make me wary of the coming decades.”

The conversation is above Obi-Wan’s understanding. What do the conglomerates, guilds and unions have to do with the Jedi gaining a seat in the Senate? His Master is less ignorant and a blackness to the Force lightens as Qui-Gon is distracted, his thoughts turning elsewhere; it makes Obi-Wan remember why he is here.

“What sort of laws?

Obi-Wan interrupts. “You must come home, now, Master.” Qui-Gon looks at him in such a startled manner that it impossible for Obi-Wan not to feel guilt; the Force once again becomes heavy and dark with grief, regret and pain. Obi-Wan stands. “We must go,” he speaks once more.

“I agree,” Ben adds quietly. “This is not the time nor place to be talking politics. When you have recovered, visit me, Qui-Gon.”

“I will,” Qui-Gon states, hand drifting outwards. Obi-Wan watches as his father latches onto it, standing up and boldly claiming Qui-Gon’s lips. Obi-Wan squirms, looking away – it makes him uncomfortable to think of his Master and his father having such a relationship.

“Off with you,” he hears Ben whisper, chuckling. Obi-Wan’s grip on Qui-Gon’s hand tightens as he pulls him towards the door in answer and he does not look back when he hears Ben sigh.

To Qui-Gon, without looking, he says with a voice as hard as rock, “Let’s go, Master.”


End file.
